


For the Love of a Chevy

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: During Canon, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-04
Updated: 2006-07-04
Packaged: 2018-09-03 04:25:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8696512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Dean kind of likes his car...and Sam. You know?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Title:** For the Love of a Chevy  
**Author:** [ ](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/profile)[**keepaofthecheez**](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/)  
**Characters:** Sam/Dean  
**Rating:** NC-17 for language and incest.  
**Category:** Wincest, slash, SAME OLD.  
**Word Count:** 1, 568  
**Spoilers:** Meh...not really.  
**Warnings:** incest, car!porn  
**Disclaimer:** Oh, if only.   
**Summary:** Dean kind of likes his car...and Sam. You know?  
**Notes:** Written for [ ](http://community.livejournal.com/60_minute_fics/profile)[**60_minute_fics**](http://community.livejournal.com/60_minute_fics/) prompt # 1: **Vehicle Sex** , but my computer died and I really only had twenty minutes, so this is SERIOUSLY raw, guys. I also have to give major props to [ ](http://nymeria.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://nymeria.livejournal.com/)**nymeria** for the inspiration earlier today. Consider this my answer to yours, Nym. Only...yours still pwns me liek whoa.  
  
  
  
So, Dean had a secret.  
  
Okay, it wasn’t so much a “secret” as a “manifesto” of sorts. Anyone who knew _him_ knew about _it_ , and he didn’t mind telling anyone who didn’t.  
  
Dean liked cars. Specifically _his_ car. His car turned him the fuck _on_ , and if there was anything Dean possibly liked more than his beloved Impala, it was fucking in the backseat of said Impala. Or the front seat. Or, you know, the hood…he wasn’t too particular.  
  
Sam remembered the first time he ever caught his brother jacking off in the Impala. He’d been sixteen, Dean a fresh twenty. He’d been sitting up in a tree, using the full moon as light to sharpen his favorite hunting knife, waiting idly for Dean to get back from his date with some tramp he’d picked up from God only knew where.  
  
Dad had been gone, as usual, and Sam just didn’t like being in the motel by himself. Not only was it depressing, but they couldn’t even afford the cable, and when it came down to it, Sam would rather risk falling out of a tree and breaking his neck than watch Public Broadcasting.  
  
The sound of the Impala’s engine down the road had caught his attention, and he’d looked up just in time to see Dean pull up, switching his headlights off as he pulled into a parking spot at the very end of the motel grounds. Directly beneath the tree Sam perched on.  
  
Sam was just flexing his muscles to climb down and greet his brother, when something gave him pause. He sat and watched the entire time as Dean opened his fly, pulled out his cock, and stroked himself to an orgasm that sent tingles down _Sam’s_ spine. He’d palmed himself through his own tattered pants, biting down so hard on his lip when he came that he split the tender flesh wide open.  
  
When he’d finally owned up to watching Dean weeks later, the result had been surprising to say the least, and Sam had ended up bent over the hood of the car, crying out Dean’s name, promising he’d never do something like that again.  
  
They’d both known he was lying.  
  
That was only the beginning of the Good Times initiated by the Impala, and Dean’s utter incapability of resisting the combined charms of the Chevy, Sam, and sex. The years Sam had been away at Stanford hadn’t diminished that hunger, although it had taken them longer to get back to admitting it.  
  
Sam hated waiting.  
  
They were off on another hunt now, in another town, the Impala’s engine running smooth as the miles stretched out beyond and behind. They’d fallen into a comfortable silence two states ago, and Sam had dozed on and off while Dean hummed along to Black Sabbath on the radio.  
  
But now Sam was awake.   
  
He tilted his head against the seat, watching Dean through half-closed eyes as his brother’s lips pursed in a whistle, fingers tapping out the beat on the steering wheel. Dean and his fucking _perfect_ lips.   
  
He reached over, gently at first, rubbing Dean’s knee in soft circles. His brother started, shooting him a look, smiling a bit, and then looking back at the road. Sam’s hand drifted higher. Dean’s brow furrowed.  
  
As innocently as he could manage when a wicked grin wanted to split his lips, Sam blinked. Slowly. As if just realizing what he was doing, he stilled his hand and said, “Oh…am I bothering you?”  
  
Dean’s teeth gritted, and he glared at Sam through accusing eyes. “What the fuck are you trying to pull, Sam?”  
  
Sam’s eyes widened, just a smidge, in a perfect “Who, me?” expression certain to drive his brother crazy. Then, “You want me to stop?”  
  
Dean’s eyes narrowed, back stiffening, and _this_ was the moment Sam had been waiting for. His brother had finally caught the scent of a challenge, and in true Winchester fashion, he was going in with gun cocked and ready. “Do whatever you want,” Dean replied easily, but Sam caught the edge beneath the words. No one else probably would have, but Sam had always been _damn_ good at reading the subtle nuances of Dean’s persona.  
  
“But this isn’t getting to you, right?” he asked, a grin in his voice as Dean’s throat worked, his eyes trained firmly on the road in front of them. “I mean, you wouldn’t care if I pulled your dick out right here and now and went for it. Right?”  
  
The car swerved, and Dean let out a sharp curse, gripping the wheel so tightly that Sam wondered that his knuckles didn’t split open. He shot Sam a look, then muttered something under his breath that had Sam chuckling.  
  
“Dude, you gotta speak up.”  
  
“Fuck you,” Dean growled, but there was no heat behind his words. At least, not the kind that would have actually _stopped_ Sam. Instead, Dean’s eyes flicked back to him, then his legs spread, just slightly, and that was enough of a green light for Sam.  
  
“You are such a slut,” he said, and like Dean, his words held more affection than bite. “This shit really gets you off, doesn’t it?”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean snorted, but a faint blush was already climbing his neck. In true Dean fashion, he tried to play it off by cracking a joke. “Like any guy would turn down road-head from someone as pretty as you, sweetheart?”  
  
Sam wasn’t offended. He reached over, fully cupping Dean’s cock through his jeans and snorted when Dean nearly leaped out of his seat-belt. “You gotta tent so big I could set up a three-ring circus.” He felt smug and triumphant, palming his brother in slow strokes as Dean’s head fell back and he groaned.  
  
“Lame,” was all Dean could manage, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and tonguing it desperately. Then, “Why don’t you stop talking and put that big-ass mouth somewhere it can do some good?”  
  
Sam paused in his efforts, brows drawing together. “My mouth isn’t that big.”  
  
“Dude, I hate to break it to you, but _everything_ on you is fucking _huge_.”  
  
Sam could only grin at that. “Hey, thanks, baby.”  
  
Dean groaned again, although whether it was because of Sam’s ministrations or his own inadvertent compliment, Sam didn’t know. What he _did_ know was that his brother was within minutes of blowing his wad while driving down a dark highway road in the middle of No-Fucking-Where, Who-The-Hell-Knows.  
  
“Dean, pull over,” he demanded, already undoing his belt-buckle as he eyed the exit sign. He could glimpse dark, deserted country road ahead and knew there’d be a place perfect to park the Impala.  
  
Unsurprisingly, Dean didn’t argue. The minute they were hidden from the main road, Sam was in Dean’s lap, sucking his brother’s lip into his mouth and gripping Dean by the head, tilting his neck back and kissing him hungrily.  
  
“Fuck…Sam…” Dean sighed, struggling to loosen his belt. “You planned this didn’t you, you little bitch.”  
  
“Don’t ask, don’t tell,” was Sam’s response as he maneuvered awkwardly within the cramped confines of the Impala’s interior. When he finally managed to get Dean free of his underwear, he worked his own pants down his legs, thanking _Christ_ he’d decided on a pair of sweatpants that morning. Zippers were currently Public Enemy Number One.  
  
“Glove compartment,” Dean gasped, swallowing hard when Sam ground against him, his intent evident. “God _damn_ , Sam…I think _you’re_ getting off on this more than me.”  
  
Sam couldn’t disagree with that. He twisted around, fumbling for the lube and continued to dry hump against Dean so that his brother wouldn’t stop making those sounds that kept Sam up at night. Kept him aching every damn second he wasn’t with Dean. In Dean. Surrounding Dean.  
  
“Hurry,” Dean was whining now, voice thick and slow, hips pumping against Sam. “Enough teasing, Sam. Fucking _do_ it.”  
  
“You need a bigger car,” Sam grumbled, rising up enough to slick himself up before sinking down, slowly, onto Dean’s dick. They both released twin sighs of relief, and then Dean thwapped him upside the head.  
  
“Don’t talk shit about my baby.”  
  
“I’ll say…whatever the hell I want,” Sam answered, rocking against Dean, fingers digging into the sweat-slick skin of Dean’s shoulders. “Jesus…”  
  
“Top’s word is law, Bottom shuts the hell up and gets fucked,” Dean murmured, hands falling to Sam’s hips and holding on as he canted his hips up and down, over and over.  
  
“Yeah, who’s on top again?”  
  
“Fuck you.”  
  
“Trying,” Sam laughed, but the sound was soft and broken, and he dropped his head on Dean’s shoulder, mouthing at his brother’s salty skin and nearly purring in satisfaction. “God, I love you inside me.”  
  
He knew Dean wouldn’t answer, not with words. Dean had no problem getting emotional over a goddamn hunk of metal and engine grease, but got quiet and introspective when it came to his feelings for Sam.   
  
And Sam was fine with that. Because he knew. He did. Dean told him everything he needed to know by the way his eyes went blurry, heavy-lidded and awed, every time Sam was with him. The way his fingers squeezed and caressed…the way his lips searched for Sam’s in desperation.  
  
Sam said I love you out loud; Dean said it with cock and mouth and hands and hips.   
  
And of course, a ’67 Chevy.


End file.
